


Dreamer's Paradise

by Peeta



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Hijacking, Inception-like mind fuckery, Prompts in Panem, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peeta/pseuds/Peeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where can you go but your dreams when real life is too hard? What if those dreams turn on you and real life is all that you have to cling to? …what if they’re <b>both</b> impossible to bear?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamer's Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 7, [Day 2](http://promptsinpanem.tumblr.com/post/115092706405/day-2-ratsso-i-go-to-bed-and-sure-enough-within) of Prompts in Panem: Rats.

_Electricity spikes through my fingertips like a sizzling live wire. I refuse to scream, so I have no choice but to bite clean through my lip. One minute turns into two, into three, into an hour. A day. Almost a week?_  
  
_I’m not sure which way is up or what my name is. All I know is **hate revenge mutts anger kill strangle bleed dry**. Eventually, when my lip is so swollen and I can barely feel my tongue from my own harsh bites, I have to scream._  
  
“NOOOOO!!!” I shout out like my blood is curdling in my veins and stopping my heart from beating. My body shoots up, the cold sweat prickling my forehead.  
  
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I hear her whisper in my ear, over and over again, while her hand runs across my back in soothing circles. I’m paralysed for a moment as I gather the strength to breathe normally. In and out — my chest moves sharply, up and down.  
  
When I’m finally able to snap myself out of it, aided by the smoothness of her words, I blink away the awful images and turn to look at her.  
  
“Katniss?” I whisper back at her, and she smiles in that soft, gentle way that reminds me that **this** is real life, not those awful dreams. I’m not sure what started them, or when _exactly_ , but I remember having them since almost the day I met her. Like another reality trying to shatter through my perfect world.  
  
“It’s okay now. It was just a dream. Come on, lie back down with me?”  
  
Her arms are so inviting and warm.  
  
Before I can let myself fall back into the horrific dream landscape, I settle into her, the scent of her hair and neck bathing me in comfort, and close my eyes for a blessedly dream-free rest of the night.

  
“Such a good baby. Eat up, there you go!” she coos, our daughter babbling nonsensically from her high chair as she takes a spoonful of apple sauce.  
  
I can’t help but smile as I witness this everyday scene, one that’s become my lifeline when I’m awake. Katniss’ hair is beautifully rumpled from my fingers running through them this morning.  
  
“Willow’s in a cooperative mood today, huh?” I ask, my hand rubbing along the fine tufts of black atop my little girl’s head. She giggles and shoots her feet out, kicking like she wants to be picked up, but she needs to finish eating first.  
  
“Yeah, but I think she’s happier to see you than me,” Katniss quips, a mock-frown thrown my way. Willow wrinkles her nose up to try to imitate her mother. We both break out into laughter at the sight.  
  
“Definitely mama’s girl, no doubt about that,” I say with a sigh as I hug Katniss from the side.  
  
After placing a kiss on each of my girls’ foreheads, I shuffle about the kitchen, pulling together the ingredients for a quick breakfast. Katniss has to go out to the shooting range today while I’m stuck in the office for most of the day. Willow’s grandmother is saving our hides by agreeing to babysit our little girl.  
  
“Scrambled, over easy, omelette?” I ask from the counter, two eggs in each hand.  
  
“Sunny side up this time, please! And _don’t_ break the yolk. That’s my favourite part!”  
  
Snorting, I shake my head as I get to work. Last time was an accident, anyway. I’m normally good with my hands when it comes to cooking.  
  
The morning flies by a lot quicker than I’d like it to. Before I realise it, Katniss is bundling Willow up and braiding up her own hair into a neat plait for the day.  
  
“See you tonight?” she asks me, her expression almost sad. This week has been longer than usual, but it won’t last forever. Just until the paperwork is finished.  
  
“After 7. Sorry sweetheart, I know it’s rough. On both of you,” I add as I take both of Willow’s hands and place a kiss atop them. I follow up with a chaste kiss upon Katniss’ lips. There’ll be time for more tonight. Her eyes light up as she realises what I’m wordlessly communicating, my own gaze long and intense.  
  
She’s out the door and I’m ready to follow, when something in the living room catches my eye. My brows knit together as my hand drops my keys on the hallway table. It looks fluffy… which is odd since we don’t have any animals in the house; not alive, anyway. Whatever Katniss brings home is already skinned by the time it makes it past the door.  
  
A strange scratching sound catches my ears, prickles my skin. This thing doesn’t feel _normal_ , whatever it is. I hold my breath as I try to step as quietly as possible, slowly coming closer to the corner near one of the sofas. That’s when it shoots out, long, yellow teeth aiming for my throat and clamping down so hard I can’t get my scream out.

  
I scream and scream until eventually, I run out of breath and voice. Once they broke me, I couldn’t stop crying out. The pain flows freely, covering up the pleasant images still simmering in my mind. I’m not sure if it was a dream or a vision. Maybe another reality I was meant to live.  
  
“Who is in charge of District 13?” one of them asks again. As though they think I’ll be more forthcoming this time.  
  
They pause only long enough to wait for an answer that never comes.  
  
And then it starts all over again. The electrocution, the pounding of my body, kicks and punches aimed at my stomach and ribs. It’s all fine for them to hit me where they want, as long as it’s below the neckline. Below where the audience can see.  
  
Time drags on so sluggishly, I’m not even aware of my own body anymore. Every time this happens, I wish I could black out and fall away from all of this, but they never let me. When I reach too close to that point, fingers almost grasping the relief of black nothingness, I’m stabbed with another one of their needles.  
  
That’s when things get fuzzy. They start talking to me normally. They talk to me like we’re sitting down to lunch, offering me bread and tea. It’s stale, not like the bread I remember my dad making, but it’s so good I can feel my stomach flopping over in relief. They ask me more questions, but nothing as invasive as before. At least, I think it’s not that bad. More often than not, they tell me about Katniss, how she used me, how she plans to kill me, how _I_ need to kill _her_ first. They show me things I don’t remember, yet they swear is the truth. Video from the 74th Games, hidden away cameras spying on Gale as he kisses Katniss, more footage from the Capitol and then from the Quarter Quell. They keep talking to me until I start to agree with whatever it is they’re saying.  
  
After that, it starts again like a nightmare come back to haunt me. Zaps along my spine, burning tools pushed into my skin from foot to shoulder. They aren’t even asking me anything — I think maybe they’ve run out of things to ask or maybe they realise I don’t know anything. Either way, they don’t bother anymore, they just keep throwing punches and at the end of each session, that needle pierces my skin again.  
  
One day after another of their tea sessions, as I’ve come to refer to them, they leave me alone in my cell. I hear a broken cry coming from the other side of the solid wall. I think that I might know the voice — a woman’s voice, from the pitch — but I can never be sure. Before I can think about it too much, I let myself fall into that blissful oblivion.

  
“Katniss!” I scream upon waking for the fifth night in a row.  
  
My pupils are dilated as the last of the nightmarish cell fades away, my chest heaving like all the other times. I lift a hand to my forehead and shut my eyes as I try to catch my breath. The sweat is chilly as it trickles down over the back of my hand.  
  
Turning in my spot, I realise that I’m not actually in bed. I’m still at the office, my hard mahogany desk having served as a napping spot that I’m just starting to remember falling upon an hour ago.  
  
“What time is it,” I mumble to myself, fingers brushing away papers to get to my watch. 7:12. Sighing at the numbers, I strap the watch back on my wrist and pick up what I have left to finish. Another long night at the office tomorrow should take care of it.  
  
The drive back home feels a lot shorter than it usually does, which I’m unbearably grateful for. Katniss’ Jeep is already in the drive. The sight brings a smile to my face because for as long as the day was, I can’t wait to get in bed tonight and draw it out just a little bit longer.  
  
She’s nowhere to be found when I walk through the door and set my things aside. Taking a look around the kitchen and living room, I still don’t spot her, and unbidden, those horrible images from my nightmares flood my mind. My heart starts to pound and I begin frantically searching each room, steadily calling out Katniss’ name louder and louder.  
  
“Katniss!” I start to scream as I push the door to our bedroom wide open. The sight that greets me is shocking, to say the least… though not in the way I expected it to be.  
  
Lying in the middle of our bed is a very naked, very sexy looking Katniss. Candles are lit around the room, casting a pleasant glow that only enhances her already breathless features.  
  
“Sweetheart?” I whisper in question. I’m standing in our doorway, dumbstruck.  
  
“Come in, Peeta. I won’t bite,” she practically purrs. Her hand pats the bed next to her, followed by a stroke of her foot, like she’s teasing me with what she plans on doing.  
  
“Willow?” I have to ask, but I’m walking towards her, hands undoing my tie quickly before they fall to my shirt buttons.  
  
“With my mom. She was kind enough to take her for the night once I told her you’ve been working late all week.” I could swear there’s a twinkle in her eye. Her hands lift up to my shirt when I come over to the bed, still standing and staring at her like she’s the best thing I’ve seen all week — which isn’t far from the truth.  
  
As her nimble fingers undo each button, I run my hands over her arms and trail them up across her shoulders. She’s let her hair down, the dark waves beckoning me in like the deep, unfathomable ocean sings its siren song to a sailor.  
  
“Have I told you how beautiful you are lately?”  
  
She smiles and her hands drop to my slacks, the zip unnaturally loud in the room. “Not in the last few days. Why don’t you indulge me, then?”  
  
My smile matches hers as I lean forward and rest my hands on either side of her, the bed dipping beneath my weight.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur against her ear, my lips following the line with short kisses.  
  
“Tell me again,” she breathes, fingers dipping into my boxer briefs and gripping me loosely.  
  
I let out a harsh breath at the contact, but don’t break away from her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Katniss.”  
  
She grips tighter, eliciting a gasp followed by my moan. “So beautiful,” I continue to praise, my fingers drawing patterns on her skin as she helps me push out of my slacks and underwear.  
  
We’re both naked on the bed, my body hovering just a few inches above hers, taut like a violin string.  
  
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” I’m peppering kisses along her collar bones and sternum, her fingers in my hair guiding me where she wants me to go. She’s saying something under her breath that sounds like “so good, Peeta,” but I’m not entirely sure. I smile against her belly before placing wet, sucking kisses along her dusky skin.  
  
Just as she’s spreading her legs open for me, her folds glistening beautifully in the low light, my brain screeches to a halt inside my head. I want to grip and push at my temples, but something stops me. Katniss is still beneath me, only she looks… _feral_. Her eyes glint menacingly and she’s murmuring something entirely different:  
  
“Touch me wherever you like, Peeta. I’ll only bite a _little_.”  
  
When she grins, her teeth are yellow and pointed, the incisors stretching out and dripping blood before she lunges out at me. I’m stiff as a log as she sinks her teeth into my neck, hot crimson splattering across the walls like a hideous crime scene waiting to happen.

  
I’m thrashing on the hard floor and crying out. The tears fall into my mouth only to remind me that I’m still here, trapped in this hell. My knees pull up into my chest as I lay there, my arms wrapped tightly around them as if I could protect myself from the evils that lurk outside my cell. I can hear voices murmuring in the distance, eyes glinting in the dark as though they’re watching, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

  
“What do you suppose he dreams?” one doctor asks another. They both look down at me as I’m caught in my own head.  
  
White walls surround me; a soft bed cradles me; the aromatic food on my table begs me to eat.  
  
Yet I cannot crack my eyes open and free myself from this prison I’ve crafted in my mind. They’ve burrowed so deep, I can’t find my way out.  
  
“Perhaps he dreams of a better place. Somewhere he has control of his destiny,” the second doctor replies. Both shake their heads and walk out of the glass-enclosed observation room.  
  
If I could open my eyes, I might see that I am no longer trapped in the Capitol. The door shuts, my chart beside the door swinging as it’s left behind. On the first page, the words “schizophrenic dementia induced by witnessing deaths of wife and child, followed by postmortem rat predation” sit boldly for anyone else but me to notice.


End file.
